


The Battle Nobody Won

by Jb (sg1jb)



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Gen, SG1 'Classic' Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 06:29:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9980477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sg1jb/pseuds/Jb
Summary: A missing scene, for 'Forever in a Day': The difference between a won and a lost battle is a matter of perspective.There is an immediate sequel to this story, entitled 'Just Maybe' ( locatedhere)(both are reposts of older fics, previously archived elsewhere)





	

**Author's Note:**

>   
>   
>  An older 'classic'-style SG1 fic, originally written and posted online (on The Tablet website) way back in October 1999.  
>   
> 

  
  
  
  


**The Makepeace Connection:  
The Battle Nobody Won**

**by Jb**

  


Boy, I think I'm gonna scream. I'm sure as hell getting tired of chasing after them - covering their skinny-assed butts - all over the known and unknown galaxy. Last time we all thought they were dead, we were wrong ... so lets just hope that's the case now, too.

Johnson appears at my shoulder, leaning in close and shouting to be heard above the weapons fire. "That old guy - the Abydos guy -  he's raising some sort of stink. Refuses to go through the Stargate." Shit. Last thing I need now is some old fart in a skirt running around in a panic, possibly right into the line of fire. I glance around me. Things have settled some. Instead of the constant repeated volleys of the last fifteen minutes, now there's only isolated blast weapons' fire heard in amongst the rapid chatter of our own weapons. 

After a slight pause, after I don't say anything about the old man, Johnson gives me the word on what he knows is uppermost in my mind . "No sign of any of them, Sir."

Shit. Timing my yell so that I can be heard above the noise, I wave toward the main battleground just to our left and give the order. "Okay, so it's my ball game now. Shut it down wherever possible. Let's see what we got. And tell someone to keep the old man outta the way."

There's no point in using the transmitters; it's far to noisy for anyone to hear anything through them. Johnson runs off to pass the word, to signal the cease fire and close her down so we can see just where we're at. It takes a bit for word to spread, but before too long the din has settled appreciably and I can see and hear just where the remaining pockets of enemy activity are, still being answered to by our boys. It's looking good. Dead and dying Jaffa litter the hill and field to my left, and as I scan closer to our position I can only hope that I won't see too many of our own fallen on the scraggly grass. 

But I do see them. One, two, three - and then there's number four right over there, damn. Too many already. The shots are just sporadic now and I see Johnson running back toward me, gesturing at the clump of trees halfway down the hillside.

"Colonel Makepeace, except for the odd loner here and there, near as we can tell the only real opposition left is holed up in those trees. They pretty much stopped firing when we did, Sir. Major Connor requests permission to check it out."

Yeah. I squint toward the trees, but it's too far away and I can't see if there's anything alive in there. Either they offed themselves, or they're biding their time. I thumb the switch on my mic. "Connor." He responds in an instant with his position, and I look up to see his group huddled behind one of armoureds across the other side of the field. Everybody else is spread out in compact teams everywhere, hunkered down, being alert good little soldiers. "Do a recon off to your left. Keep under cover and don't take anything for granted." He acknowledges me with a quick word and signs off. "Everyone else, hold positions and keep the comms free for Connor's group." 

No sense in trying to use the radio to find them. O'Neill would have heard and surfaced when I called Connor, if he was in any position to do so. I turn to Johnson, and he knows right away what's on my mind. He's a good man. I've got a good team. 

"No sign of them, Sir. I asked, but no one has seen them. Paulson said he last caught sight of O'Neill and Major Carter over there," He points to the main defensive line to the left. "Maybe about ten ago. But then it got a little hairy and he got pretty busy."

My radio comes to life and I hear Connor's team's quiet chatter as they keep each other informed of their positions. Then there's a quick warning just an instant before raucous firing starts up again. Too bad - I really hoped the damn walking incubators would have given up. But I guess not. With my hand on my mic switch I quickly scan the field and the trees where I can now see repeated flashes of staff weapon blasts. Connor and his men are returning fire, and small groups of personnel are making their way over to his right flank. I don't need to interfere here; everyone knows what they're doing. 

Time for some serious clean-up.

I poke Johnson in the arm. "Get Williams." Again, he knows just what's on my mind and stops to shoulder an extra MP5 before dashing off to find my point man. Turning, I look behind our position at the small tent which lays past the holding pen, and the two dead Jaffa laying on the ground. I'm not sure how they got that way - dead - but I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

That's where _He_ will be - the damn parasite that started all this. 

And thats where I'm going.  
  


* * *

  
  
Williams pauses and picks up something off the ground. Still with his back to me, his eyes trained forward on our objective, he holds it up high so I can see it. A 9mm clip, from a Berretta. He waggles it up and down and from that I know it's empty. As he advances, so do we, and when I come to the spot where he picked it up I can see evidence of a blast impact; what little grass used to be here is singed away and the dirt is blackened. 

Those dead Jaffa were shooting at something here - make that, _someone_. From the empty clip, I figure it was probably Jackson. Everyone else  except Tealc  is armed with the MP5s. Had to be Jackson, but where the hell is he? For that matter, where the hell are any of them? There's no blood on the ground, no bodies.  I can still hear the final battle going on behind us, but here it's real quiet - deathly quiet - and I've got a really bad feeling; I look at the tent, and it seems to me to be a silent sentinel of doom. 

The Goa'uld must have got them.

Damn.  I hope I'm wrong.  I hope that wherever they are, those skinny-assed butts are intact, and I sure as hell hope that wherever it is they are ain't _here_  because right now I'm on a mission that I won't be distracted from. Right now, I've got a piece-o'-shit Goa'uld to hunt down and blast into oblivion.

We come together just back of the tent overhang. Johnson is crouched by the side of one of the Jaffa. I can see the distinctive and messy hole caused by a blast from a staff weapon. Had to be Tealc, that did this one in. I look at the other, and rather than looking at another blast crater I'm surprised to see a neat collection of bullet holes just off dead centre in the chest armour. Definitely 9mm; well placed.  I guess I made a mistake before; couldn't have been the kid, then - not Jackson after all.  Must have been Carter or O'Neill.

Silently I give two signals and Williams and Johnson position themselves just where I want them at the entrance. At the third signal we enter, ready for anything ... and the first thing I see is the business end of the staff weapon that's pointed at my face. 

He was ready for us.  
  


* * *

  
  
Uh oh. As if the sight of Jackson isn't enough of a radical bummer, I've got the look on O'Neill's face to deal with. His eyes are like coals in a bar-b-que; impenetrably black in the centre, rimmed with fiery heat that threatens to burn up anything that comes too close.

And I'm far too close, my shoulder still touching his from when I burst into the tent, rifle raised, and promptly thwacked him in the back of the head with the barrel as I tried to swing it around toward the staff weapon that filled my vision. The staff weapon held by _Teal'c_ , crouched on the floor just this side of _Carter_ , sitting on the floor with a motionless _Jackson_ , laying on the floor on his back with arms and legs spread-eagled and his head protectively cradled in Carter's lap ... and just in front of them, an obviously and most sincerely dead female, what with her white Goa'uld-ish finery marred by the big black hole in her chest.

All of it right in front of O'Neill, standing just inside the tent flap looking like he wants to kill the nearest thing to him. Which right now is me.

I'm vaguely aware of Johnson and Williams shuffling nervously behind me. I have an unwise impulse to quip  _'Found them'_ , but the sight of Jackson looking as dead as the unknown kill beside him helps me keep my tongue. There's a nasty burn coming up on his forehead, and as I see the hand device on the woman I can figure out what must have happened here. 

"He still alive?" O'Neill just glares at me, but as Carter passes her hands through Jackson's hair, Teal'c lowers his weapon and answers me.

"Daniel Jackson is alive."

I nod toward the female. "She's the damned Goa'uld, then." 

Our radios squawk and everyone can hear the voice which comes across telling me that while there's still a small pocket of Jaffa resistance, things shouldn't last much longer. And that the old Abydonian guy is having a fit, still refusing to go through the Stargate. O'Neill growls in his throat and brusquely dispatches Johnson and Williams to bring the Abydonian to the tent. Just as I'm wondering why the hell he'd want to do that, O'Neill turns his charms on me.

"Don't you have a battle to win, Makepeace?"  O'Neill's voice is rock hard and even though I know the guy can be a hard-assed prick sometimes, I'm a bit confused why he's picked right now to be that way. After all, they got the damned Goa'uld and Jackson is still alive. Hell, they're all still alive. "Get the hell out. Go do something else."  He's staring at me with something like disgust on his face. 

Well shit, I'm not the enemy, and hell if I'm gonna just stand here and be abused. Crossing my arms on my weapon, I lean slightly into him with my shoulder. "Well"  I try for my best uncaring drawl.  "I was gonna save your butts from the scourge of the Evil Goa'uld, but I see you fried her ass nicely enough without..." 

I don't continue though, because I'm interrupted by a weird sound. Teal'c is rising to hover over me just as I realize that the source of the sound is Carter. She's let out this really loud strangled noise, and now she bows her head down real low to come to rest with her forehead touching Jackson's head.  The kid is still looking worse than just being out cold... more like he belongs on a morgue slab.

O'Neill's hand is on my shoulder and his grip is painful. The look on his face is getting pretty scary, even to a hard-nosed conceited prick like me. I'm confused and I guess I look it, because Teal'c suddenly takes a step back and stares at me with a strange, but not at all menacing, look on his face. Hey congratulations, Makepeace. Pretty good. I can _actually tell_ he has a look on his face. 

"O'Neill. He is unaware. Resemblance to the image distributed for study is slight, and no other SGC team has ever encountered her."

Her? Who? Unaware of _what_ , exactly?  I look around at them, but other than the pressure of O'Neill's grip easing slightly, I feel like I'm caught in a space-time bubble or something. Uh, like, what the hell's going on? Then I notice it: Carter's shoulders are shaking. And suddenly it feels like someone just pulled a mother-fucker of a circuit breaker in my head and I feel my body actually jump with the realisation. _Oh my God_. Oh holy _shit_. 

I look at O'Neill and I know my eyes are probably popping out of my head. That unconditional surrender of fastidously maintained blasé is bad for my image, but maybe I shouldn't worry about that right now.  Christ - it's _Her_. When I turn my eyes back down to the ground, the scene has taken on a whole new meaning. It's no longer a simple matter of SG1-tangles-with-the-Evil-Goa'uld-Scumball-and-wins. 

Even as much as I don't understand or appreciate this 'separate the host from the worm' philosophical humanistic crap, even a son-of-a-bitch like me can recognize that this isn't the victory it seemed to be anymore. 

It's a tragedy.

  


* * *

* * *


End file.
